Okay, so the hand burn thingy. After the blister got so large that a woman in my department asked if I was trying to grow another appendage, it burst when I was tucking my shirt into my britches. Go ahead. Gag, I even threw up in my mouth a little bit over that one.
So I knew I was allergic to Neosporin, I knew I was allergic to Polysporin. I had Bacitracin in my possession so I went home, washed my hands thoroughly and made myself a little gauze action with some Bacitracin on it and some of that fabric tape stuff. I was so worried that I would get a staph infection because I had burned my motherhumping hand on a lamp while cleaning out the cat litter that I kept the gauze, Bacitracin, fabric tape thingy going until I found myself scratching the gauze with a paring knife.
I was just gouging at the bandage with the fingernails from my left hand and it was making an unpleasant “scritch scritch scritch” noise. It felt like I was being bitten on my burn wound by approximately twelve very angry fire ants... very large, very angry fire ants.... very territorial, very large, very angry fire ants. It hurt like a mother fucker and I finally took the covering off. My wound looked like...
Okay, you know in Grindhouse how they are driving down the road during Planet Terror and they keep hitting those people that had been infected? Well my hand looked like it had been infected by whatever strain of zombie cooties that made Quentin’s junk dissolve. A teeny active volcano surrounded by blisters and angry red welts and a nice purple color in the middle for ambiance.
I was suspicious of Bacitracin too... so suspicious that I just decided to go see that Hot Dermatology guy after a planning meeting on Monday. (Will tell you about the weekend later.) Hot Dermy guy was all chatty (he is so freaking cute y’all... and a Yankee to boot, the accent kills me. Weak-kneed and shit. I feel like my little Dr. McYankee crush is almost an affront to the Rebels.) and wanted to talk about this... and about that... but his nurse had already told me when I called that they were squeezing me in because it was sort of an emergency and not to let him get chatty.
Just checked with my coworker who goes to same McYankee dermatologist guy and he is as quiet as a mouse with her. So I guess it is just the curse of the hotness or my bubbly personality or something because apparently they have it documented in my chart, “Loves to chat with this patient.... her hotness burns the retinas of McYankee’s eyes.”
So I rushed in, showed McYankee my hand and he was all... “Aren’t you allergic to Polysporin and Neosporin?” “Yes sir [swoon].” “Well, I have this new antibiotic topical ointment that will work [he writes a script], so... how have you been? What did you guys do over the weekend?” The nurse met my gaze over McYankee’s shoulder and basically gave me the “STEAL 2nd!!!” look which I interpreted as, “Nooooooo!!!!!!!!!! He’s getting chatty!”
I took the script and started walking down the hall... talking the whole way... with him following me and the nurse following him.
“Dr. McYankee, thank you so much for seeing me on such short notice, I really appreciate you, [your hotness] your time...” “I know you do.” (We nearly had a moment y’all.) “And thank you for taking such good care of me.” “It is always my pleasure, and call me... if not in the next few days, then definitely in the next two weeks to let me know how your hand is.”
All together now... Awwwwwwwwwww.
So I went home after I got the script filled, boiled my hand, washed it vigorously and then applied the new stuff... Albrax? Clorox, whatever, something with an “A” at the front and “ax” somewhere else in the name.
Yanno, I think it may be made out of gold ingots or something. Maybe the eyelashes of the last unicorn. Fairy wings that have been born on a full mooned Tuesday of leap year. Who knows, but something made the salve $50.00. Why does everything cost $50.00? So I had the salve that was wrung from Jesus snot and I made a bandage with the gauze, the Jesus snot and the fabric tape after thoroughly cleansing my appendages. And what do you know? I am allergic to the fifty dollar tube of Jesus snot.
(Totally keeping the Jesus snot though, just in case... of... rapture or something. “Uh, Jesus? You dropped this.”)
So, I have a bunch to tell you guys.
Okay. I come from a big family. Not like Irish Catholic big for my immediate family or anything, but... well, my daddy has 32 first cousins. His momma’s family was large (don’t even get me started on my uncle (who married my daddy’s sister) and his 13 siblings), my grandmother had 7 sisters and 2 brothers. A family of 12, and all of the sister’s looked alike, there were twins and stuff and they were all so very close that growing up (when we lived in Georgia) we would go up to North Georgia almost every other weekend. And I saw my second cousins a lot. We played and got to know each other and I am very close to my first cousins (only 6) on my daddy’s side.
I know that like... well, everyone in Georgia is related to one another but, seriously... the family is large. And as of last week there were four of the original eight sisters left. Then Troyce died on Tuesday morning in El Paso. She was 92 and wonderful, we gathered over the weekend to celebrate her life, her family and her faith.
So I took Mister and basically threw him into a huge hugging, kissing, crying, laughing mass of family. It was the first time he had met most of them and... yay, there was much rejoicing. We took off work to fly into GA on Friday and were there until Sunday. It was nice to be able to look across a table and see a great aunt hugging on my husband and he relaxed enough in the group with all of them talking and laughing at once.
Truth be told... at the viewing not just once but several times Mister was mistaken for being from my father’s side of the family. He looks a lot like my late uncle and well, kind of like my dad. They part their hair the same. (Shut up Freud.)
Oh, fun fact. My father is Kim Bassinger’s 4th cousin.
I am sure Mister is still reeling from all of the people who hugged him, kissed him, told him they loved him and all of the people that he met, the ones who told him stories or just trying to keep the aunts straight.
Each of the 8 aunts, my grandmother included, was called something other than her Christian name. My late grandmother’s name was Dallas (ironic much? Shut it.) but she was called Doodler. Troyce? Was called Trixie. And almost each of the 32 cousins has a nickname as well. Even I don’t know them all. So every time someone would start a story it would include a nickname. Oh, and several Ralph’s, Billy’s, Johnny’s, and two Bobbie Gail’s.
The name Susan is everywhere too. I am Sue Beth, my 1st cousin is Sue Lynn, my great aunt is Franny Sue and so on and so forth until your head explodes or someone gives you a flow chart complete with names, nicknames and pictures.
So in the past two weeks I have had two planning meetings, a conference, I have been in two states and more cities than I can remember, I have seen family and friends and I have laughed and cried. I burned my hand, finished the book Lisey’s Story by Stephen King and saw the movie Phat Girls with Mo’Nique*.
*Whatever her name is. And don’t judge me. I cried.
I have been thinking about purging my closet (thanks Mo’Nique) and because of that, the next time I write I am going to tell you a story about a boy named Danny and a brown dress. No more of this, “It’s half past the hour and I have done something stupid...” weather report type updates.
One more thing.
I would like to send a thank you, heartfelt and sincere, to someone who has made me laugh more than I care to mention over the past five (or more) years.
Last Monday night I had just completed a marathon of a shitty day. I was tired, I was in a hotel room that flooded, people had been inconsiderate and mean all day and I was just worn slap out. I got back to the hotel around 9:30, it was too late to call Mister to wish him goodnight and I wanted a smoke. I went outside, but the pool, lit a smoke and pulled out my blackberry.
I opened up Gmail and there was an update from someone who I knew would let me wallow in suspension of disbelief and just be entertained for a while. There was an email from Dusty Scott over at Salami Tsunami.
I don’t know if any of you remember my issues with the Ear, Nose, Throat Guy... but I am going to tell you right now that if I had even a little bit of Dusty’s wit, his charisma, his charm and his gift with the English Language my entry would have sounded a whole hell of a lot better.
I sat there by the hotel pool and laughed out loud until they sent the security guard out to check on my sanity. It was just the thing I needed to put a shitty day behind me. So please... if you are feeling blue, just wander on over and take a gander on how it should be done.
Thank you Dusty.**
**Slow John-Hughes-film-type clap starts here.